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Dante’s mouth softens against mine, his chest heaving. He stays there for a long moment, our skin glued together, both trying to catch our breath. I tentatively reach up and brush my hands over his arms, seeking out undamaged skin to touch, and Dante lets out a long breath.
A moment later, he slips out of me as he rolls to one side, and I instantly miss the feeling of him against me.
This was a terrible idea.
But it doesn’t feel like it, not in this particular moment, when he’s lying next to me, and the soft, pleasurable feeling that follows good sex is still tingling over my skin. The reality of it doesn’t really sink in until he sits up, carefully sliding the condom off and striding naked towards the door to go dispose of it. I’m reminded, watching him walk through the open doorway and into my narrow hall, how out of place he looks here.
Having him in my tiny condo is all wrong. But for just a little while, having him withmefelt entirelyright.
Dante walks back in a moment later, still gloriously naked, his softened cock still larger than it has any right to be as it rests against his inner thigh. He leans against the doorframe, insensible of his bruises, clearly enjoying the way my gaze rests on him as he stands there.
“What do you want to do now?” he asks, and I stare at him in momentary confusion.
“What are you talking about?” I assumed he would get dressed and leave, once we were done. But Dante is still standing there, in my bedroom doorway, as casually as if he lives here with me. As if hebelongshere, in this space that could fit in his kitchen and still have room left over.
“With the rest of our night.” He flashes me a grin. “I said I was coming over to see you.”
“You said you were coming over tofuckme,” I correct. “‘To show me how hard you were for me’ was your exact wording, I believe. So I figured you’d be leaving now.”
“Well, you figured wrong. Unless you want me to go.” The grin on Dante’s lips falters ever so slightly, and I realize at that moment that hewantsto stay. We’re done fucking, for now at least, but he doesn’t want the evening to be over.
“Let’s go down to the beach.” I say it before I can stop myself, as if the suggestion isn’t going to accomplish even more of what I’ve been trying to avoid—inviting him into my private life. Letting him see more ofme.
“A walk on the beach?” The corner of Dante’s mouth dimples, and for a moment, I think he’s making fun of me, but his smile seems genuine. “That sounds perfect.”
He lets go of the doorframe, striding towards me with a quick purpose that takes my breath away. He bends down, his fingers catching my chin as he turns my mouth up to his for another brief kiss. “I’ll go get our clothes.”
Our clothes.Something about that, the combining ofusinto a single entity, makes my chest clench. I haven’t been part of anusin so long, it feels like. I never have been, romantically. I’ve never had a real relationship, never had anything that felt close and safe and like it could last.
Dante Campano is the last man on earth that I should fool myself into thinking I could actually have that with.
He comes back into the bedroom a few minutes later, still naked, our clothes in his hands. “You could have gotten dressed already,” I accuse him, taking the shorts and tank top that he tosses onto the bed.
Dante grins. “And deprive you of getting to see this any longer?” He gestures down the bare front of his body, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Are you always this insufferable?”
“Do you want to find out?” He shoots the question back easily, and I bite my lip. I still taste a little of the blood from his kisses earlier, and it jolts me back into reality.
“Sometimes I wish I could.” The truth slips out before I can stop it, and Dante stops as he pulls his boxer briefs over his hips, a shadow crossing his face.
“Why not?” His gaze searches mine, and I look away, not wanting him to see my reaction. My chest tightens, a lump rising in my throat, and I pull my cutoffs on, reaching for a loose t-shirt from my dresser drawer. I go without a bra, knotting the t-shirt just under my breasts instead, leaving my midriff bare and the rest of the fabric loose enough to hide that I’m not wearing anything underneath it.
Dante seems to realize that I’m not going to answer. His gaze rests on me as I turn around, desire still flickering in his eyes, just more softly now. I can see that he wants me, even like this, and it still confuses me to no end.
I don’t comment on it until we’re outside, walking down the wooden steps of the balcony outside my living room down to the sandy beach below.
“Why do you look at me like that?” I blurt out as we step out onto the sand. The beach is mostly empty, the dark water lit by the glow of the moon, radiating out onto the wet sand on the other side of where we are. I’m barefoot, and I curl my toes into the sand, looking over at Dante. He’s tugging off his expensive Italian leather boots, and I resist the urge to point out how ridiculous he looks, walking on the beach in his bespoke suit trousers and a rumpled button-down.
“Like what?” Dante looks at me as he sets his boots on the bottom step, and I marvel at how handsome he is, even bruised. He’s so beautiful that I want to draw him.
“Like you still want me, even after—” I swallow hard, wondering where this is all coming from. I told myself to belessvulnerable with him, not more. But here I am, saying all of the things that are in my head, even knowing that I shouldn’t.
“Because I do.” Confusion flits over his face as if he genuinely doesn’t understand. “I’d be inside of you again right now, if you wanted. All night. As long as we could both keep going.” Dante steps closer, his fingers on my jaw, tilting my chin up so that I’m looking at him. His face is half in shadow, half in light, and I ache to touch him again. “My lungs feel like they’re burning after that, and my whole body hurts, and I’d ignore it all if it meant I got to bury myself in you for another hour.”
“An hour? Overestimating your stamina a little there, aren’t you?” I crack the joke, hoping to diffuse a moment that I don’t know how to respond to, but Dante’s expression doesn’t shift. He keeps looking down at me, his face serious and full of desire, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
“I mean it, Emma.”
